Prose: The Gardener and the Cook
by till-you-smile-again
Summary: A series of drabbles and shorts involving everybody's favorite cook and gardener!


New story! Somehow harder yet at the same time easier: inspired by poetry!

So, this will be mostly stories that I get the idea from poems. The poems may or may not be in the story...

but they will all involve Bard and Finny! Yay :)

So here's the first chapter!

* * *

Fleeting. Piercing. Wondrous. Multitudinous.

In no other occasion or time would he use these words- Goodness, he did not even know if he had read of them before- but as they sound nice and they come in the dictionary, he supposed that they were the words to use.

**Fleeting in my mind the thought**

**That you would leave me so-**

**If it were true, alas!**

**Pierce my heart, before you go.**

A whole day- and nothing but this! No, no- It was entirely wrong. Maybe he shouldn't have read so much of the other poems of tragedy. He only intended to find some background on the structure.

But it doesn't matter- he was a cook, for Christ's sake! Cooks do not write prose, they cook. It doesn't even matter- at all! Better he dig up turnips in the soil.

Oh, that rhymes.

Fuck.

And this is how, one day dreary, a cook begins to read and write poetry- all because of a certain somebody.

Bard opened the heavy book on the page where he slipped the butcher's bill-he had no other bookmark- and began reading the first thing he saw. He was on the chapter of _Love and Romance_. Exactly what he needed, he thought.

The cook pursed his lips slowly, like a liar would when confronted. It was a confession; what he felt was all in the book, glorified for the entire world to see. What he felt- relayed to the world in ways he can't even use or sometimes understand. It twisted his heart, but it was the kind of twist that created pleasure.

He continued reading, slowly. Soon his mind was entirely taken by the book- there was no time to think about the candle burning out, or Sebastian walking in on him. It was only him and his feelings, fleeting and so painfully wonderful, and there was redemption in his mind: He wasn't the only one who felt that way. If people can write about it, then what other things can it make him do?

And so focused was he that he didn't notice a certain bright green-eyed boy tiptoe towards him.

"Boo!" shouted Finny, earning a curse from Bard's mouth. The cook fell down from his chair, creating a loud noise. The gardener laughed, as though there was no tomorrow, all the while trying to ask if his friend was okay.

"I hate you, Finny," the cook growled, eyes blazing, just as he was pulling himself up.

Finny stopped giggling. His eyes became sad and questioning, his lips now in a pout. "I'm sorry," he squeaked, that Bard almost missed it. Bard was surprised at the boy's reaction; but then again, it was Finny, he should have known.

"Aw, kid. Don't be- I didn't mean it. It was all for a good laugh, yeah?" The cook began, grin on his face. He knew what was next: Wide and twinkling eyes. Oh, how he loved those eyes…

He was right- Finny's expression was downright adorable.

"What are you reading?" Finny then asked, his head slightly leaned towards the book Bard was reading. There was a twinkle in his eye; curiosity was always evident in those deep green eyes.

Bard bit on his lower lip gently. "Oh, nothin'," he began, "S'just a random book I pulled from the shelf." The cook suddenly found the floor very interesting- such a nice carpet. He then sat down again at his chair. "Go back to sleep, Finny," he said.

But Finny did the exact opposite. The boy sat down on the opposite chair pertly, watching Bard with bright eyes as he did. Bard raised an eyebrow at the gardener's action- how else would he read if the reason he was reading was in the room? It would be too much of a distraction.

"Ya can't sleep?" Bard asked, hoping Finny would answer no.

"Yes," came the small reply.

_Fuck,_ Bard thought.

The cook decided to ignore the boy; after all, it wouldn't hurt to try. But Finny's gaze was strong, Bard couldn't help but not ignore him. He would look up from his book every so often, to find Finny smiling at him. Again, he was correct- it was too much of a distraction. Finally he gave up, sighing as he dropped the book.

"Can I get ya anything, Finn?" Bard asked. He had given up on the book entirely. Well, he could go read about his feelings or go feel them again and he decided that he'd rather experience them again. He expected that he will be making a trip to the kitchen- Oh, Good Lord, let him control himself tonight. The counter can be used for so much more than cooking.

But what Finny asked for was entirely different.

"Read to me!" the boy replied. Bard was surprised, but he thought it was better than losing his (held for so long) control in the kitchen. He glanced down at the book again, before replying with a quite reluctant 'okay'.

Then the cook began to read, slowly, careful to read the poem correctly.

**Oh my luve is like a red, red rose,****  
****That's newly sprung in June:****  
****Oh my luve is like the melodie,****  
****That's sweetly play'd in tune.****  
**

The cook looked up from the book to find Finny listening very, very carefully. It amused him so much, but he had no time to appreciate it now- he had to continue reading.

**As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,****  
****So deep in luve am I;****  
****And I will luve thee still, my dear,****  
****Till a' the seas gang dry.**

Finny was smiling so widely- it was really, really nice! He'd like to hear Bard read to him more, he thought. He found that he appreciated his voice- even if it was rough.

**Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,**

**And the rocks melt wi' the sun;**

**And I will luve thee still, my dear.**

**While the sands o' life shall run.**

Bard continued reading, hiding his smile behind the book. Really, Finny should listen well- He meant everything he said. Truer than true- it only waited for him to reveal his feelings. The only thing he regretted was his voice- but well, what was he to do? As long as he said it with enough emotion, he supposed.

**And fare thee weel, my only luve!****  
****And fare thee weel a while!****  
****And I will come again, my luve,****  
****Tho' it were ten thousand mile!****  
**

Not a second later after Bard finished, Finny began clapping. "It was really nice, Bard!" the boy gleamed at the cook. Bard began to almost blush. "Thanks, kid."

"It's like you really meant it! And like you really, really wanted to say it to me!" Finny continued, eyes still twinkling. He then stood up, very swiftly. "And because of that, I'm inspired to work harder! I'll go plan what to do tomorrow, Bard! Thanks! You're the best! I love you!" Finny rambled excitedly, and not seconds later, he disappeared into the hallway.

The cook stared at the boy as he left, somewhat disappointed. But then he smirked, as he closed the book.

_But I meant it, Finn._

_I just wish ya meant it too when ya said I love you._

_Huh- the fuck wrong with me. I'm turning soft. _

_I should stop reading poems for now, I guess._

And so the book was left on the library table, to be placed back by Sebastian the next day and touched by Bard again two weeks later.

* * *

Oh, I know it was kinda sweet- My last BardxFinny fic was kind of sexier! and well, fluffier, but I've got to start with something, right?

So, Credits:

**Bard's poem was written by yours truly.**

**A Red, Red, Rose - by Robert Burns**

Isn't that poem beautiful? I like its rhythm:)

So, guys, just drop a review saying if you liked it, or tell me what you want. Constructive criticism too, makes everyone better!

Or you can put in your favorite poem, and if you like, also what you want to happen!

Spread the love!


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